


sam porter bridges x reader (A/N: based on a true story💦💦😛) by XxIAmTheParticleOfGodxX

by catpoop



Series: peter englert goes grocery shopping [3]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Universe, Crack, Epistolary, Gen, Sam is emotionally traumatised, but not really lmao, higgs writes anonymous fanmail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21657517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Higgs sends Sam some anonymous fanmail. It is not well-received.
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges & Higgs Monaghan
Series: peter englert goes grocery shopping [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559998
Comments: 23
Kudos: 68





	sam porter bridges x reader (A/N: based on a true story💦💦😛) by XxIAmTheParticleOfGodxX

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [山姆·波特·布里吉斯×你（作者按：根据真实故事改编💦💦😛）作者Xx我是上帝粒子xX](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336332) by [Hiljatuuli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiljatuuli/pseuds/Hiljatuuli)



> I started writing this bfore I saw this post but yes this is everything i nEED: https://twitter.com/rasstegai/status/1201557415034003463
> 
> the epistolary tag makes me laugh bc i. yeah

Sam catches the notification for a new email out of the corner of his eye. This sort of thing is familiar now, after working for Bridges for all these months. Normally, when he’s on the job, Sam will ignore them all until _after_ a restful nap in a private room and a shower. Seeing as he’s currently in the shower, Sam gives it a moment’s thought before summoning the message with a sigh.

Probably Heartman – he always knows to time his messages with Sam’s showers.

So when the projected text, undisturbed by the constant patter of hot water coming from above, tells him the email is from an anonymous sender, Sam blinks. He’s never seen that before.

He wonders if it’s Deadman relaying something sensitive, though a hidden sender ID wouldn’t conceal the contents of the email itself. He clicks into it, curious.

The shower continues to run overhead, drenching him in warmth and drowning out the outside world. Unnaturally calm as a result, Sam peers at the wall of text while going through the motions of showering with his other hand, and makes a single contemplative noise.

He catches more than a few unsavoury words in his skim read, and minimises the display with a jerk of his wrist.

Maybe this is a better read for when his mind is clearer and he is, more importantly, fully dressed.

_Wet dream, my ass._

Peter Englert sits in silence, fingers on keyboard, and thinks. Well, not Peter Englert, exactly. He’s writing from another perspective this time.

 _My dearest Sam Bridges –_ No, too impersonal. _To the light of my existence…_

Peter jots the few words down, takes a sip from the opened can of porter next to him, and stares up at his four walls for inspiration. He has to get this message down correctly, to best impress or shock Sam Bridges. He hopes for a combination of both – horror and revulsion, turning to genuine amazement at the poetry delivered to his doorstep. Peter swills another mouthful of beer around his mouth, nods to himself, and begins to type.

By the time Sam finishes the final paragraph, the dampness of his shower has fully dried from his skin. His throat feels similarly dry, but with the added tang of nausea. His arm falls to the side from where it had been held up above his face for the past however many minutes, but the email stays hovering in his view. Sam closes it with a swipe, to stare dully at the ceiling. The blank slate of grey metal does nothing to clear his mind.

 _God_ , he knew that people hero-worshipped him – the untouched otter hood somewhere in the back of his private locker is proof enough – but was it really necessary to write two pages of graphic detail and send it to him personally?

 _No_ , Sam amends, it’s probably accessible to half of the continent by now, at least judging by how the chiral network is faring.

 _‘You will be overjoyed to hear, as I was 🥰, that I had the loveliest dream just last night... ♥ ♥ ♥  
You will never guess who I glimpsed in that vision – but no, I will tell you! ‘Twas no less than your delightful, delicious face, my dear Sam!_’

The words float in his memory, even though the email itself is out of sight.

“Is that fucking Peter Englert?” Sam mutters to himself. The letter had been signed with a lot of hearts and kisses and an unnecessarily long _‘From your dedicated, devoted, anonymous follower, adorer, and worshipper – I may mask my identity but to you I unmask my heart’s (and body’s) desire_ ’, but he hasn’t received another email as ridiculous from anyone else.

He thinks about the bunker an hour-or-so’s drive from where he currently is, and frowns.

Higgs hears a knock at his front door. Given that no one uses the door besides himself, he is quick to brush it off as an anomaly. A drunkard’s hallucination, perhaps. Then the knock comes again, louder and more furious, and Higgs groans into the canvas of his stretcher bed before reaching a hand out to the remote for the projector hooked up to the access terminal outside. It’s out of reach.

He groans again, concentrating on the thin slab of metal at the other end of the room until a whisper forms in the air. The child-shaped BT that crawls over to his desk and back over is met with a winning smile.

Higgs snatches the remote from a fast-dissolving hand. “Thanks, kid.” Whoever outside is still furiously knocking, and Higgs switches the projector on with a growl.

“The fuck you want?” He holds the communicator aloft and positions it roughly above his face, hoping the visitor can see every expression of anger he is directing at the camera. It takes a moment, in his drink-addled state, to notice that the remote is projecting an image of exactly who is outside his door. 

“Hey! Sammy boy!” 

Sam Porter Bridges frowns at him in his customary silence, and Higgs – no, Peter Englert, takes another swig of drink.

“Did you write that email?” The outburst nearly makes Peter flinch – in surprise, and not anything else – but he’s not known for his cool and calm exterior for nothing.

He stares down the miniature Sam on his screen. “What email? I haven't sent in another request for pizza, have I?”

Sam doesn’t look pleased, and for the life of him, Peter can’t figure out why. He’d be over the moon to receive adoring fanmail, though in his line of work, they come across more as death threats. _Same difference,_ he shrugs to himself.

“It can’t’ve been anyone else,” Sam fumes. “Why did you write it.”

“Wha-t, accusing the innocent now, are we?” Peter drawls. He squints at the camera and jabs an aggressive finger. “Can’t you just let a man drink in peace?”

He watches lazily as Sam glares some more, paces the narrow entrance, then disappears back outside. The man may be renowned for delivery, but as a detective? _Needs more work,_ Higgs thinks.

Sam has long deleted the email, but the unpleasant taste in his mouth remains. He still can’t trust Peter Englert, even if the man had been unwilling to admit to anything. He sits down on his bed with a huff and activates his cufflinks, looking for a distraction. Any distraction – maybe the UCA’s archives of material will be a good starting point.

The notification that pops up has him burying his face in the mattress.

[URGENT] A Fuckton of Eyeliner – Peter Englert [10.0kg]

**Author's Note:**

> higgs utilises child labour send tweet
> 
> kudos & comments r very appreciated!
> 
> [tumblr](https://swummeng-geys.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hashtag_yikes)


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